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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985600">I Wanted It To Be You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/complicationstoo/pseuds/complicationstoo'>complicationstoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Civil War Fix-It, Civil War Team Iron Man, Epistolary, Forgiveness, Getting Together, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:54:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/complicationstoo/pseuds/complicationstoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Civil War, Tony and Steve are both a bit of a mess. Guilt and loneliness threaten to break them both, but each find comfort in the emails of strangers they meet online. Tony writes to Sal, and Steve writes to Thomas, and neither of them have a clue who's actually on the other side.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers &amp; Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>228</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dear Sal, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Have you ever heard of the strangers on a train phenomenon? It basically says that you can share anything with a stranger, even your darkest secrets, because you’re never going to see them again. There’s no consequences, no rules. Just two people pouring their hearts out and walking away like it never happened. I think they made a movie about it and everything once. I don’t know. I never saw it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, the point is that I think this can be like that. I can say anything to you, and you can say anything to me, and at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter much. You could stop replying to these emails tomorrow and nothing would happen. Salvador isn’t even your real name. Thomas isn’t mine. I’m not much of a gambling man these days, but I’m willing to bet you created a new email address for this just like I did. Or maybe you just really are that into Dali. That could be it, but I don’t think so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So what do you say? Want to be my stranger on a train?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>- Thomas </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I think you should talk to someone,” Rhodey says. His voice is soft, as if he knows that saying it firmly would only result in an argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am talking to someone,” Tony replies. “I’m talking to you right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey sighs, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Look, I’ve never pushed you. Not after Afghanistan, not after New York, not even after Ultron. But maybe I should have. Maybe if you’d gotten help back then the rest wouldn’t have happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you implying that my lack of therapy caused an alien invasion?” Tony raises an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at him. He’s across the lab space, sitting on the couch while Tony makes adjustments to his leg braces. “Because I know I’m influential, but I don’t think that even I’ve got that level of power.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m saying that maybe if you’d gotten help after Afghanistan the wormhole wouldn’t have affected you as much, and then Ultron wouldn’t have happened or at least it could have gone differently. And then maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony clenches his jaw, biting back the scathing remark he wants to make. Instead he says again, “I am talking to someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re talking to a therapist?” Rhodey asks, clearly disbelieving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Jesus, Tony,” Rhodey mutters. “There’s no such thing as talking to a therapist ‘in a sense.’ You’re either talking to one or you’re not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not a therapist exactly, but I’m talking about it, okay? That’s a step above nothing, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey narrows his eyes, brow furrowing, “And who is this ‘they’ you’re referring to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crease between his brows intensifies. “You don’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Tony says. He keeps his attention on the wiring of the braces in front of him, fiddling with it so he doesn’t have to meet Rhodey’s judgmental gaze. “We met online. There’s this website for people looking to connect anonymously with others, and don’t judge me, but I was a little drunk and bored so I went on it. We talked for a bit, exchanged emails, and now we write to each other sometimes. He doesn’t know who I am, I don’t know who he is, and it’s perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God,” Rhodey groans, the sound muffled by the hands now covering his face. “Are you serious? What is this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve Got Mail</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony frowns, “What’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A really stupid movie about two people who meet in a chatroom and talk in emails and never share any identifying details. They’re business rivals in real life, but they don’t know they’ve been talking to each other online. He puts her out of business, learns the truth of her identity, then basically manipulates her into falling in love with him by never telling her that it’s him she’s been talking to in the emails until the end.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey, that’s actually kind of accurate,” Tony says. Then he amends, “Well, except for the business rival part. And the falling in love part. Hopefully we’ll avoid the manipulation part while we’re at it, because I think I’ve had enough of that for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Rhodey and Pepper have mastered how to use just his name to say everything they need to. He hates it just as much now as he always does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, honeybear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need some fucking therapy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony sighs and takes a step back from the workbench. Turning to Rhodey, he says, “You know I can’t do that. All they’d do is take one look at me and say ‘Daddy didn’t love you enough,’ anyway. I don’t need a professional to figure that one out. And I also don’t need yet another person to tell me this is all my fault. I already know that one, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony,” Rhodey says gently. “That’s not what I’m saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? Because it sounds like I broke up the team, destroyed several cities, and caused international political problems all because I never went to therapy. And somehow I managed to do it all by myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not blaming you for all of that, and I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, either, Tony.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what are you trying to do?” Tony snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony can hear the grinding of Rhodey’s teeth, but the satisfaction he normally feels at pissing someone else off just isn’t there anymore. He feels drained, so sick of fighting with everyone he knows and coming out on the losing side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks across the room, slumps down into the spot next to Rhodey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just easier with him,” Tony says quietly. “To him, I’m Thomas Edison, and to me he’s Salvador Dali.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Rhodey frowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shrugs, “The website needed a name. Apparently he likes art.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey is silent for a long moment. He flexes and unflexes his fingers repeatedly, a habit he formed after the temporary paralysis. Tony isn’t sure he’s even aware that he does it, but probably not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it helping?” he finally asks. “Talking to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Maybe.” He swallows, looking away from Rhodey’s all knowing gaze. “It doesn’t hurt, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey puts his hand on Tony’s knee and doesn’t move it away until Tony looks at him. “You know I just want you to be okay, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Tony says reflexively, and Rhodey carries on like he didn’t speak at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I know that you and Pepper aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now, but she’s worried about you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony raises an eyebrow, “Who said we’re not on speaking terms?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>speaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s different how?” Rhodey laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not avoiding her, and she’s not avoiding me. We just don’t have anything to talk about,” Tony says, then he frowns, “At least I don’t think she’s avoiding me. Is she avoiding me? Did she tell you that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my place to get involved in your relationship with her,” Rhodey answers vaguely. “That’s one problem I can’t help you with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony makes the easy intuitive leap. “So she is avoiding me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey sighs yet again and leans back against the couch cushion. “She needs some time. You both do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We never needed it before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking, because Tony already knows. This time is different from all the others, when they would break up for a week or a month or even a year once. It’s permanent now. She isn’t coming back this time. He fucked up one too many times, and he can’t blame her for not wanting to give him a millionth chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The point is that you still have people, Tony. Even if you’re not talking to her right now, Pepper still cares, and you’re never losing me,” Rhodey says, emphasizing his point with a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I stuck around when you were an annoying teenager who threw up in my shoes. You’re not getting rid of me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was one time thirty years ago, when are you going to let that go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was four times, actually,” Rhodey smiles wryly. “But thanks for ignoring the point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony bites the inside of his lip. “It might be better if you left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony gestures to Rhodey’s legs. “You were almost paralyzed because of me. I’ve made your life hell for years, and then I almost took it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Tony,” Rhodey groans, sounding frustrated again. “Is that what you really think? That what happened to me at that airport was your fault?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were there because of me. Vision fired at Sam because I told him to. How is that not my fault?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last I checked I’m still responsible for my own choices. I didn’t agree with the Accords because of you, and I didn’t show up for that fight because of you, either. I was there because I believed in it, and if I had to make the choice again I would. If you want to blame yourself for all the rest, fine. I know you’re going to anyway. But not this. I won’t let you blame yourself for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey doesn’t leave any room for argument in his tone. It doesn’t absolve his guilt, not even close, but he won’t argue it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s also had more than enough emotional conversations for the day. Getting up from the couch, he goes back to the workbench and picks up the screwdriver he had in his hand earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell Pepper she can stop avoiding me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey snorts, “Yeah, alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious,” Tony says, glancing back at him. “Tell her I promise not to mention the breakup or beg her to come back or whatever the hell else she thinks is going to happen if she’s in the same room as me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think it’s her she’s worried about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony puts his hand on his chest in mock scandalization. “Me? I’m fine. Just dandy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s not scotch in that glass right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell her that I’m not going to fall apart at the sight of my ex,” Tony says, ignoring that comment. “I’m a grown man. I can handle shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey hums, the kind that says that he doesn’t agree but isn’t willing to argue. “How about you tell me more about this Salvador guy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much to tell,” Tony shrugs. “There’s only been a few emails.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels Rhodey’s assessing stare burning into his back. “You wouldn’t tell me even if there was something, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know me so well, platypus,” Tony grins. “Now come on, let’s try these bad boys out.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t heard of that before, but I would like to be your stranger on a train if you will be mine as well. But if I may, I would like to ask why you sought out the website in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is, of course, no obligation to answer, but I feel as though I could be more what you need if I understood your reasoning. If you would like, I’ll share mine as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Salvador</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Steve glances around the room from behind his dark sunglasses, automatically assessing for threats. No one would expect to find the rogue Captain America in a small dive bar in Chile, but he refuses to let his guard down for even a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds Natasha in the back corner right away. Her hair is now a shade of platinum blonde, a drastic change from the jet black she was sporting during their last scheduled meet up. It’s also shorter now, falling just above her chin. This look suits her better than the last one, in Steve’s opinion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stirs her drink with her straw as he approaches. It’s some fruity thing that he knows she hates, but it’s part of the character. There’s another drink on his side of the table, something amber colored that he won’t enjoy either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down, he picks up the glass and takes a drink. He just barely manages to hold back the wince, and the corner of Natasha’s mouth quirks in the closest thing he’ll get to a smile. Her sunglasses are already off, lying on the table between them, and he puts his next to hers. It makes him feel exposed, but it would be too suspicious to leave them on in a place with such dim lighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” she starts, sounding casual, “what’s new?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve taken up knitting,” he says dryly. “You should try it. It’s incredibly relaxing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have tried it, actually. I made Clint a sweater once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve raises his eyebrows, “You did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knitting needles are handy to keep around,” Natasha smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have expected that answer. “How many different ways?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least ten,” she says. “Although if I really thought about it there would probably be more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiles as he shakes his head. At least some things never change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam is somewhere in Europe still,” he says, switching tracks and getting down to business. “Last I heard was Portugal, but I imagine he’s moved on since then. He’s due to call tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanda’s in Scotland. I suspect she’s been having contact with Vision again, but she denies it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we be worried?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha shrugs, “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, considering. Wanda and Vision seemed to be getting pretty close before everything that happened. It doesn’t hurt for her to have a friend, but it would be better if it wasn’t someone who fought against them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep an eye on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods again, then asks, “And how are you?”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same as always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still hasn’t quite decided if that means she’s doing well or not, but it’s the answer he receives every time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find anything new in Krakow?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a thing. It was either never there or they’ve managed to cover all their tracks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two weeks ago, Sam received some information on a potential Hydra base in Poland. His attempts at investigating it didn’t turn up much, and apparently neither did Natasha’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll keep looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up the glass again, swirling around the liquid. Natasha is staring at him like he’s some kind of puzzle, but he pretends to be unaware of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha hums, though the arch of her eyebrow suggests she doesn’t believe him. She has a right to be doubtful, he supposes, as the only one who knew how rough it was for him after they left Wakanda. But it’s been almost a month now, and he’s adjusting. Mostly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, I am,” he says. He lets Captain Mode, as Tony used to call it back in the day, fall away. “I tried that website like you suggested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m talking to someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how is it going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve gives a noncommittal shrug. “We’re strangers on a train.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha frowns, “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s some sort of thing about how two people who don’t know each other and aren’t likely to ever see each other again can share their secrets with each other. There’s no consequences to it, and both people can just walk away at the end. According to Thomas, that’s what we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what he called himself on the website. Thomas Edison,” Steve says. “Couldn’t have picked a more obvious fake name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Salvador Dali.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha laughs, “Wow, you two were a perfect match, then. How incredibly unoriginal of both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve goes a little red, and he hopes Natasha can’t see it with how dark it is in their corner of the bar. “It’s all I could think of on the spot. I wasn’t exactly expecting to need one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think it was the kind of thing that required a warning,” she says. “But really, is it helping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so. It’s something else to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation between them stalls a bit, and briefly Steve wonders what it says about him that Natasha is probably his closest friend, yet he has a hard time maintaining a conversation that isn’t about a mission with her. It can’t be anything good, so he banishes the thought as quickly as it comes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you off to next?” Steve asks while Natasha takes a drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a few more days here until I meet up with Wanda in Ireland. I think I’ll be staying with her for a while to keep an eye on her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods sharply, “Send a message when you get there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stands from the table, puts her sunglasses back on, and walks over to his side, placing her hand on his shoulder, “I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bending down, she presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t know if it’s part of their cover or if she thinks he needs the comfort that it brings. That’s yet another thing he can’t quite decide about her, but he isn’t sure he even wants to know the answer to this one. He would prefer to think of it as friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the meantime, have fun with Thomas,” Natasha says, flashing a smile just before she turns away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve watches her go for only the briefest of moments before collecting his own sunglasses from the table and putting them back on. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he doesn’t bother hiding the face he makes at the burn in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks out of the bar a minute after her, and she’s already disappeared.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dear Sal,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I guess that’s a valid question, but I’m afraid I don’t have much of an answer. I found the website by accident and thought why the hell not. There are certainly worse ways to meet people. For the sake of honesty, I’ll also admit I was a few sheets to the wind on that first night. I was a lot drunk and a little lonely. Or maybe a little drunk and a lot lonely. Doesn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Go ahead and share yours if you’d like, but I’m guessing it’s much the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nice send off, by the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A friend actually recommended it to me. Although I believe that she was under the impression that I was lonely, so that does make you somewhat correct in your assumption. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the sake of honesty, as you said, her impression was not exactly wrong. I have been traveling a lot for work lately, and it is difficult to maintain relationships under the current circumstances. I think she wanted me to have a sense of normalcy. How that led her to recommend that website, I may never know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems, though, that we are both interested in the same thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you. It felt appropriate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Salvador</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Sal,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A friend, huh? I think that would make me a lot wrong actually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d ask what you do for work, but I think that might be a little too much detail. According to one of my friends, this is a You’ve Got Mail situation, and their rule says no specifics. (By the way, if you haven’t seen that movie, don’t. I regret watching it myself.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the same thing I’m going to assume you mean a false sense of friendship with someone you’ve never met. That, I can do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have seen that movie. I enjoyed it, though I’m not sure it applies much here. I sincerely doubt I will find myself falling in love with you. No offense intended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am wondering, though, when the deepest secret part begins. I was promised that in the beginning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Salvador</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’ve come to the conclusion that the greetings are incredibly annoying to type every time. Also, I think I am offended. I hope you realize that I’m now on a quest to prove you wrong. You’ll be falling in love with me in no time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feel free to start spilling secrets at any time. I’m all ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- Thomas</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(p.s. I’m mostly joking about the falling in love thing.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wish you luck in your quest, though I wouldn’t expect you to succeed. I’m afraid my heart is already spoken for. I think that suffices for my first secret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Salvador</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alright, we’re off to a juicy start. I have about a million follow up questions, but I’ll keep it to just a simple request to tell me more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a friend that I met through work. I can’t honestly tell you if what I felt was genuine love or mere infatuation. I’ve only ever known love once, and it was different from this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With my first love, I knew it was love from the start. She was bold and confident. She had a way of commanding a room without trying, and I’m still at a loss for how she did it. It wasn’t difficult to like her, and it was easy to fall in love.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t fond of him at first. He was arrogant, loud, and brash. He had the same attitude I used to see in the guys who picked on me as a kid. I misjudged him for a long time, and I regret how I behaved in the beginning. I kept him at a distance for a long time. It ruined a lot of things, I think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not sure I want to talk about it anymore than that. Sorry if you were expecting more, but honestly, the wound is still fresh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think this means it’s your turn now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I was in love with a friend from work too. It’s a bad situation to be in for everyone involved, trust me. Mine didn’t end so well either, and I also don’t know if I want to talk about it. My friends seem to think I should, but they don’t know that I was in love with him. You’re the only one who does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve also decided that maybe we’re approaching this all wrong. I’d rather tell you about the fact that my ex-girlfriend is driving me slowly insane. It’s a much more pressing issue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- Thomas</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Pepper, please,” Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I told you already that I can’t do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to do more damage control, Tony. You might not be CEO anymore, but the public doesn’t care about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sinks deeper into his chair while she continues to pace the space behind her desk. Her high heels click against the tiles, and the noise adds to the throbbing behind his eyes. She’s as perfectly put together as she always is, and there used to be a degree of comfort in that. Comfort in the way that she could handle a crisis in five inch heels and clean lines of lipstick, like she could do anything. Now it verges on annoying, because they broke up and his teammates turned their backs on him and the world crumbled at his feet, but she stands there flawless as ever like none of it ever affected her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you honestly think that I don’t know that?” Tony asks, and he’s just so tired that he can’t even muster the anger that he would usually have at this point. They keep going around and around, every little thing turning into a debate, and he was done with it weeks ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper ignores him and continues with the point she was making before, “The public doesn’t know who to trust, which means they don’t trust you, which means they don’t trust us. We’ve had three deals fall through in the last month alone. Sales are down for every product, and if it keeps going this way -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we actually in danger of going bankrupt?” Tony interrupts. “Are our doors about to close tomorrow? Because three deals fell through, but I know for a fact that five didn’t. Sales are down, but I already told you I’m working on the product upgrades. When the public sees that the new StarkPhone is years ahead of everyone else, no one’s going to give a fuck about the time that Iron Man and Captain America tried to kill each other at an airport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. Pepper has stopped her pacing, but her arms are crossed over her chest in the way that says she isn’t convinced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m doing the best I can, alright? The upgrades are on schedule, and when Ross finally stops breathing down my neck, I can probably get them done even faster. What I won’t do, however, is make any more public statements about this shit. I’m not going out there and pretending that we’re all interested in mending fences. I’m not lying to the world, just because the world blames me for Captain America becoming a criminal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper’s arms fall, and maybe she’s finally taking pity on him and putting an end to this conversation. He can only hope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hope dies rather quickly. “Not in those words, maybe. But I still believe in the Accords, and I still believe in what they stand for. I’m not advocating that we should forgive everyone that fought against them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saying that they shouldn’t be prosecuted for stepping foot in the country again isn’t the same as saying they should be forgiven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it, though? It sounds exactly like saying that there shouldn’t be a single consequence for what they did. That they should be allowed to break the law that 117 countries wanted just because they felt like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper sighs, and she comes around to the other side of her desk, leaning against it in front of where Tony sits. “Have you ever considered that there’s a middle ground? That no one had the right solution here, and it wouldn’t kill you to admit it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you considered that you weren’t there, and maybe you don’t actually know what you’re talking about?” Tony snaps back, but some of the bite is unfortunately missing. “I’m not saying that I did everything right. I fucked things up, too, and I know that my fuck ups were a big part of what lead to all this shit in the first place, but at least I acknowledged that there should be a consequence for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony -” Pepper starts, but he isn’t in the mood to hear any more of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he interrupts, standing from the chair. He straightens out his suit jacket and smooths down his tie. “I’m not doing it. All of the bridges have been burned, and for once I’m not going to be the one to build them back up. That’s on somebody else. I’m staying out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re making a mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony scoffs, “Add it to the list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper rolls her eyes, and it’s clear her patience is just as thin as his. “The world needs the Avengers, Tony. You know it, and as much as I hate to admit it, I know it, too. What’s going to happen when the next alien invasion happens? Or something even worse? What will happen when you’re all scattered across the world without a plan because you’re all so goddamn stubborn? That’s an awful lot of lives acting as the cost of your pride, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Tony forgets that Pepper knows just where to hit him. That she knows every single one of his weak points, every place to push and pull to make him bend to her will. Sometimes, too, he forgets that she’s usually right in the end. He can probably count on one hand the number of times that she pushed and he bent and everyone was worse for it in the end, but the number of times that things went right is immeasurable. Without even thinking much about it, he knows that this will end up belonging in the latter category.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only that made it easier to say yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony places his hands on the back of the chair to quell the buckling feeling in his knees. “I tried, Pepper. I tried everything I could to avoid this, and no one wanted to listen. They all wanted to act like I was the villain doing this to them. Like I was the only one on any of those missions. As if I was the one that wrote the damn Accords in the first place. They’re the ones that turned us all into enemies, and I don’t see why the hell it’s my job to undo what they started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper walks over to him, and her hand on his shoulder is both comfort and hurt in one. She speaks softly when she says, “Because you’re the bigger man, and you always have been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorts, and it turns into full blown laughter until he can’t breathe or even decide if he’s genuinely laughing or just losing it. Pepper watches him, her smile half sad and half amused like she can’t decide either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it something I said?” she jokes when he finally stops, and he laughs again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just imagining the reaction if someone else heard you say that I’m a bigger man than Captain America.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not wrong,” Pepper says firmly, like she’s daring him to disagree. “He sees things in black and white, but the world turned gray a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poetic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lightly smacks his arm, and Tony genuinely smiles for the first time since he walked into this room. The moment is apparently over, though, because she walks back to her side of the desk and his arm feels cold where her hand used to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want you to think about it, okay?” she says, smoothing down the back of her skirt as she sits back down. “It’s not just about the company, and it’s not just about having the Avengers again. It would be good for you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he replies on instinct, then curses himself internally for just how quickly it came out of his mouth. Such a clear lie, even if she couldn’t see through him, and Pepper raises an eyebrow. With a sigh, he amends, “Alright, I’ll think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to walk out, backing towards the door as he adds, “But if this blows up in my face again, I’m suing you for emotional damages.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you to everyone that's left a comment so far! they've all been really nice and encouraging and i'm really grateful for all of them :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We can talk about whatever you’d like. You can tell me more about your friend from work later if you’d prefer, or never at all. But feel free to vent about your ex. I’m all ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alright, I’m going to try to keep this both vague enough that it isn’t giving away my entire life and clear enough that it actually makes sense. It’s a fine line we’re walking here, but hey, let’s see how it goes. For story purposes, my friend from work will be asshole one, his friend will be asshole two, and the rest of the people involved will be known as those assholes. Shall we begin?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basically, asshole one and those assholes started up a bunch of shit that I was trying to deal with, then asshole two came into the picture and fucked things up more. The collective group of assholes is left a giant mess behind, and some people have decided it’s my job to clean it up. Including my ex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I told her I’d think about it, and I know deep, deep down that I should suck it up and try to make amends with all the assholes (or at least most of them) because part of the situation is my fault. I fucked up some things while thinking I was doing the right thing, and there was never a good way to fix it. But the thing is that none of the assholes think they did anything wrong, and I don’t know how to forgive someone who doesn’t think they did something that would even require forgiving. I don’t even think I can handle being in the same room as any of them, and I’m too tired to keep arguing with people who don’t want to listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes I wonder if I’m the one who got everything wrong though. I’m convinced I’m right, but they’re convinced that they’re right too. I don’t really know anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, thanks for reading this if you even did. Guess I didn’t even talk about my ex that much, but the point is that she wasn’t really there for any of it, and I wish she’d stop acting like she knows everything about it when the reality is that she broke up with me two months before any of this happened. I didn’t even tell her most of the details. She only knows what everyone else saw from the outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not really looking for advice, by the way. No worries there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m glad you aren’t looking for advice, because I certainly wouldn’t know what to say. It seems like the situation was complicated, and I couldn’t tell you who was right and who was wrong. I can only say that I hope you can figure out the best thing for yourself. That’s all anyone can do, really. I wouldn’t concern yourself with how other people view the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do suppose it’s my turn to vent now, seeing as that seems to be what’s happening here. I’m not usually one for laying things out there, but, as you said, we’ll see how this goes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve lost a lot over the last year. Most of the life I’ve built for myself is gone, and I’m not sure what I have left. I sacrificed almost everything for one thing, and though I don’t regret it - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is that I’ve changed that last paragraph almost thirty times, and I still don’t have the words to describe how I feel about it. I haven’t known where I fit in the longest time. Maybe the thing I really lost is myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would take your advice if you had any, but I know that I haven’t given much to go on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve sends off his email before he can make yet another edit, then puts the phone back in his pocket. He’s in Italy today, though he doesn’t quite know why. There isn’t much to do, other than chase down leads that almost always fall through for Hydra bases that might not have ever existed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy has him feeling melancholy, though, which is why he was able to be honest at all in that email. Not honest enough, because that would require admitting things that he isn’t even willing to admit to himself just yet. It was a start, and he tells himself that something is better than nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ducking down another small alley, Steve continues to wander through the city. His sunglasses and hat hide his face, and the beard that he let fully grow in a month ago helps to complete the disguise. He could be any other tourist on any other spring day. Well, if those tourists didn’t have a home to go back to, used seven different aliases when they travelled, and never actually went sightseeing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanders for a while longer and tries not to think about anything at all. Eventually he ends up at a small bar on the outskirts of the city, mostly free of tourists. He sits at one of the stools and slides off his sunglasses, trying out his Italian when the bartender comes over with a kind smile. When he gets his drink, he sips it slowly as he wonders if the smile would still be there if she knew who he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanders back after a while to make conversation, and he tows the line between talking enough to be polite and remaining indifferent enough so she’ll take the hint and leave. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk. He’s aching for a conversation. For a moment where he isn’t alone and running between meaningless destinations. But he can’t let her look too closely, and he can’t stay in this bar for very long. So he smiles at the flirtatious remarks she makes, but doesn’t reciprocate with any of his own, and soon enough she walks off to find someone better to waste her time on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He places some money on the counter and walks back out into the streets. The cheap hotel he’s staying at is on the other side of the city, and he thinks if he walks slowly enough the day might be done by the time he gets there so he can turn in for the night. It’s in these moments that the regret settles in, even though he still knows with conviction that he fought for the right things. He kept Bucky safe and kept the others from a life of being denied freedom. But sometimes he wonders if this is really what freedom looks like, and if being on a shorter chain is really worse than being trapped completely. The fight didn’t keep the Accords from happening, and it didn’t change most of the world’s minds about them, either. Instead the fight locked him out of his own life and separated him from everyone that mattered. It’s hard to think he did the right thing when he lost everything to do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere near the middle of the city, his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he smiles down at the screen. There’s an email waiting for him, and all he can think is that if he has nothing else in this world, at least he has this. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Damn. Here I thought I would be the most fucked up out of the two of us. Congrats on winning that game, I guess? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m making the executive decision that since we’re both having shitty lives, we’re just not going to talk about it. The collective group of assholes will no longer be mentioned from here on out, because fuck them and fuck that. We’re going to talk about the good things instead, because I think we both might have forgotten that there are some. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For example: I went for a hike today. I’ve lived in a place that shall remain unnamed for a long time, and I never knew there were hiking trails right by me until today. I also have never been interested in knowing if there were hiking trails by me until today, but that’s besides the point. The actual point is that there has been a creek about five miles away from me this entire time that I never knew about. Life sucked a little less for those ten minutes I spent sitting next to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p>
  <span>p.s. I’m choosing to forgive them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve spent the last few days in a foreign country that will remain unnamed as well. Most of the time I was thinking about the people I wish I could be here with instead of being alone, and I think I forgot to appreciate that I was even here at all. I think you’re right about forgetting that good things can still exist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here’s my one good thing: I found an orange tree near my hotel tonight that looked like it didn’t belong to anyone, so I picked one. It was the best thing I’ve tasted in a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p>
  <span>P.S. Good for you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I saw six dogs today. Technically I saw seven but that last one didn’t like me so I don’t like it either. I considered getting a dog for myself, but there’s about a million reasons why I would be an irresponsible pet owner. The number one reason is that I’m actually allergic to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started drawing again. I used to want to be an artist when I was younger, before something else needed me instead. Then drawing became something I did on the side to calm my mind. It was something to do with my hands. I stopped last year. There wasn’t time, and then I just couldn’t. But today I sat on the beach and drew the way the sun was hitting the water. It felt good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>I went on a date tonight. Sort of. I didn’t really mean to. I thought it was more of a business thing but it turns out he thought it was more of a romantic thing and in the end it was just one big awkward thing. Not my worst not-a-date ever if I’m being honest though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did make me realize that I am now officially bad at dating. I used to be good at it. I was so good that I was basically legendary with how much game I had. You would have fallen in love with me in an instant, Sal. Now I go out for dinner and freeze when someone touches my hand across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And I’m old now too. I watched Wheel of Fortune and fell asleep on the couch yesterday. It wasn’t even eight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it makes you feel any better, I’ve always been bad at dating. I used to go on double dates back in the day with a friend and the girls he easily convinced to go out with him back in the day, and my date always winced when they saw me come in. In their defense, I was always shorter than them and definitely weighed less too. When I got older and taller, I was too awkward to be good at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did you even make it to the final puzzle?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Stranger, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I was asleep before the final toss up. Also, those girls must have been shallow as hell. I might not know you very well, but I know you deserved better than that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spent most of today on a plane, flying to a redacted location for a redacted business related purpose. I slept on the plane, then couldn’t sleep when I got to my hotel. I wandered around the city for a while and ended up in a bar. I took one sip of scotch and realized that I was done drinking for good this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think I might have you to thank for that. So thanks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p>
  <span>p.s. I don’t think we count as strangers anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a big step, and for whatever it’s worth, I’m proud of you for taking it. I don’t deserve the credit at all, though. This is your own accomplishment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It goes on like that for a while, swapping stories in emails and leaving out small details to not give away his identity. Tony tells him about the small pizza place he found on a trip that served the strangest combinations he’s ever seen in his life, but doesn’t mention that he found it while walking aimlessly around D.C. after a meeting with Congress that left him feeling raw and exposed like a live wire. He talks about spending evenings out on the roof to feel the sun on his face, but doesn’t say that he has to go inside once the sun goes down and the darkness starts to suffocate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal seems to be travelling, too, but he never says where. Tony finds himself wondering sometimes when he’s walking through London or Paris for his business trips if they could be crossing paths and not even know it. He sends emails and watches someone pull their phone out a moment later, then catches himself wondering if there was some small, one in a million chance that it could be him. It’s surprisingly easy for him to get attached to the idea of Sal, of this one person he can say anything to and have it actually be okay for once. Of someone who doesn’t try to twist his words or throw them back in his face. Someone who just listens and takes what he says at face value, never trying to find the hidden agenda that isn’t even there. The emails become the brightest part of his day, and they get him through every thing else that tries to drag him through hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper notices the shift in his mood, and he knows she wants to ask about it. She doesn’t, though, at least not outright. She slyly suggests that he’s been seeing someone, and she doesn’t seem to believe him when he informs her that, no, he doesn’t have anyone he’s rushing out of this meeting to go see -  he just hates meetings. If she notices the way he smiles at his phone sometimes after that, she doesn’t say a word. He’s grateful for that. He wouldn’t know how to explain that someone he’s never met has quickly become one his most trusted people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So there’s this kid that I’ve been mentoring for a while now, and sometimes I think I’m fucking it all up. He’s too smart for his own good and he tries so hard to do the right thing that he doesn’t think about consequences first. He just jumps into things so quickly and thinks that things will work out in the end. He never had to learn the hard way that doing the right thing doesn’t mean that things work out the way they should. Never had to learn that intentions aren’t all that matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is I don’t want him to have to. I don’t want him to become jaded like I did, because sometimes I look at him and I see what I started out as when I was a lot younger. Not that I was ever as good or as kind as him. I wasn’t. But I used to be an optimist and I hate the thought of him turning out like me. I want him to be better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not sure I know how to do it though. I keep sounding exactly like my father and I hate that. My father and I never got along, but that’s a can of worms for another time or probably never at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The real question is how do you protect someone who doesn’t want to be protected?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t think you can. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking I was helping when it turned out that help wasn’t needed or wanted. I think all you can do is give him the best advice and tell him your own stories and hope he learns something from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve is expecting another email when his phone vibrates on a Sunday morning. He’s with Sam on the southern edge of Morocco, freshly arrived in the country to chase down another flimsy lead, and he digs into the narrow pocket of his tactile gear to fish the device out. There’s a small smile on his face already that earns him a curious look from Sam, but it fades when it’s a text from Natasha instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam wants to ask him about it, he can tell. They drive together towards the supposed location of an old Hydra outpost in a battered stolen car, and Sam sits next to him with that pensive look on his face that always means trouble for him. Steve doesn’t want to volunteer the information, though. Natasha is the only one he’s told anything, but even she doesn’t know most of the details. She knows they still talk, and she knows it’s frequent. If Steve had to guess, this information has made its way to the others through her, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to ask or not?” Steve eventually says, growing tired of the silence. “I’m not telling, but it might make you feel better to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam laughs, “I don’t have to ask. Nat said you were talking to someone, and she thinks it’s maybe more than talking. Look on your face when you clearly thought it was him said enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t quite know what to say to that, because it is more than talking for him. It’s become everything. His first thought when he does anything is that he’ll have to write to Thomas about it. It’s been nine months since Siberia, and those first weeks were absolute hell before he had this. He doesn’t know what’s coming next in life. He doesn’t know if there will ever be a time where he won’t be on the run, if he’ll ever have a home again. But he does know that most morning he wakes up to an email from Thomas that he responds to before breakfast, and when he comes back from his run there’s usually a response. He knows that he can expect late replies next when Thomas mentions work in his email, because it means he’s deep into a project. They have a routine together that isn’t broken very often, and Steve might not have security in any other part of his life, but he has this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re friends,” Steve says instead of any of that. “We talk a lot. It’s - it’s easy with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam hums, and the implication is there without a word, but he says it anyway, “Just friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never met him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware,” Sam replies. “Do you want to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve hesitates, “No, I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of you or because of him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not because of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam raises his eyebrows. “You think he might not like you if he knew who you were?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sighs, “You’re doing it again. The whole questions with questions therapist thing. We both know why he wouldn’t like me, Sam, and we don’t have to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam holds up his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is that there were and still are plenty of people on our side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not even on our side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t mean to say it, and it makes Sam pauses for a long moment. There’s no accusation in his voice when he asks, “When did that happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s knuckles have turned white on the steering wheel. “Do you honestly still believe that we were on the right side?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly?” Sam asks, and Steve nods. Sighing, Sam runs his hand over his hair and says, “Honestly I don’t know if I ever fully believed that. A lot was happening all at once, and I think it could have gone so much differently if we’d all just had ten minutes to breathe somewhere in there. The Accords were never perfect, but none of us even wanted to give it a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never wanted to give them a chance,” Steve corrects. “Then I just convinced everyone else to follow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam shakes his head, “No, man. Don’t think about it like that. We all had a choice. We could have read them for ourselves and decided on our own. We could have had a real conversation about it. Done a real debate instead of just shouting at each other. And even if everyone did follow, it’s because we chose that path instead. I know you like to be the martyr, but you don’t get to have all the blame on this one. We’re all sharing it, and we’re all paying the consequences for our own actions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words sit between them for a while, and Steve tries to believe them. But he also knows that Sam wouldn’t have been there at all if Steve hadn’t showed up in his life. Bucky never knew any better than to follow him, and Scott had never read the Accords either. Wanda and Clint wouldn’t have been on his side either if he hadn’t created sides for people to take. He led them into a fight that didn’t need to exist. Nothing Sam could say will absolve him of the guilt of that. There was always another way. It just took him nine months to be able to fully admit it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still thinking about it when Sam says, “We could always fix it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’re a little late for that now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Natasha doesn’t seem to think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve turns his head to look at him, but he looks completely serious as he continues, “She has some contact with the rest of them still. She played both sides for long enough that no one ever technically put her on an arrest list. Stark never turned her in. From what I hear they’re even talking again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve knows that, but he never thought about what it meant. She isn’t permanently on the run with the rest of the so called Rogues, but she might as well be with how much she moves around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what have they been talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s messy, but last I heard there was talk about pardoning us, but Ross is still pushing for everyone to sign the original Accords draft. Guess Stark is stuck somewhere in the middle of it. He doesn’t want to support full pardons and dissolve the Accords, but he also wants to get everyone back together. Publicly he hasn’t said anything yet, but Nat’s been talking to him about revisions, and I’ve been talking to her about it, too. It’s not there yet, but she did suggest it could be done a hell of a lot faster if we all got together for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods slowly, “And how much flexibility does Nat think we’ll have? How much can we actually change them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam shrugs, “We won’t know until we try to get them passed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how much does Tony even want to change them?” he asks, and it hurts a little to say his name. He swallows down the pain and focuses intently on the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know that either. It might not be a lot, but it would be better than this, wouldn’t it? I mean, let’s be real here. We’ve been chasing down leads for months and almost none of them have panned out because they’re out of date by the time we get them. Half our gear is broken, and we don’t have a shot in hell of replacing it ourselves. And if there was some kind of disaster tomorrow, we’d technically have the freedom to go where and when we choose, but how the hell are we even getting there? The Quinjet broke down two months ago, and this car isn’t getting us anywhere in time. We’re not helping anybody like this. Just our own pride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam had gotten progressively louder as he talked, and he ends with a heavy sigh that makes Steve smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you might have been holding that one in for a while there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam laughs, “Yeah, well, let’s just say that I really miss my actual bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should call Nat,” Steve decides. “Tell her we want in on the revisions.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“How do you feel about Switzerland?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony jumps, slamming his forehead on the underside of the vintage muscle car he’s been spending the morning on. He rolls out from under it and rubs at his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Nat,” he groans, checking his hand for blood. Thankfully there isn’t any. “What the fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs with one shoulder, the corner of her mouth quirking into an amused smile. “In my defense, I didn’t know you were under the car when I walked in. I just wanted to startle you a little. You know, make sure your heart is still functioning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He narrows his eyes at her. “Yeah, I’m sure you scared the shit out of me out of the goodness of your heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t prove that I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles despite himself, because honestly he’s just relieved that they’re at a place again where they can even talk to each other like this at all. Standing from his place on the floor, he walks over to the small fridge in his garage to get a bottle of water. He tosses one to Natasha as well and says, “To answer your question, Switzerland is decent enough, I suppose. Not my favorite place, but I’ve got a place there and I’ve never said no to Europe. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moves to rest her elbows on one of the work benches, and he comes to sit on the stool next to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam called this morning. He talked to Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony falters a bit. “And is that a good thing or a bad thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They want to work on the revisions together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t answer the question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve said he was wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony laughs, “I think Sam was lying to you. Steve Rogers doesn’t admit to being wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve Rogers said it to me himself,” she says, giving him a small smile. “He was with Sam when he called.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony chews on the inside of his cheek, staring down at the table with his mind racing. It doesn’t make sense to him. For the last few months he thought he would be lucky to get even one of the Rogues to sign the revised Accords. He thought it would be like pulling teeth, and even though he thought this whole endeavor was practically futile, he was gearing up for the fight for it anyway. He doesn’t believe for a minute that it could be that simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s his real game?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha sighs, and she goes to put her hand on top of his, but he moves it out of the way. He stands up, pacing the open space between the workbenches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has to have a hidden agenda,” Tony continues. “You don’t fight that hard only to roll over that easily in the end. That’s not him. He doesn’t trust me. Wouldn’t work with me voluntarily unless there was something else going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on is that he realized he made a bad call,” Natasha interrupts, and Tony scoffs. “Don’t, Tony. He realized that things should have gone differently like we’ve both been saying all along. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. You know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony levels her with a flat stare, and she concedes easily, “Not a liar most of the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just to me,” he says. “What’s the saying? Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice it’s my own fucking fault?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re trusting me,” she points out. “How many times have I fucked you over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony pauses with his back turned to her, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Then maybe you should leave, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t mean it, and she knows it. She walks over to him, making her footsteps purposely audible. Her hand on his shoulder is gentle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kept that secret, too, Tony. He asked me not to, and I agreed when I shouldn’t have. Why can you forgive me for it but not him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did what you thought was right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So did he.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shakes his head, “No, he did what was easiest for him. I can forgive you because you never claimed to be anyone other than this. Not once we really met. He’s the one who spouted all that bullshit about being a team and facing things together knowing full well that he was keeping things from me while he was saying it. That’s what he does, isn’t it? Claims to know what’s best for everyone all the time and doesn’t leave room for anything else. He did it with the Accords, too, and I don’t believe that he’s suddenly had a change of heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence settles between them, and Tony can feel the panic starting to creep in. He sees flashes of that bunker. His own blood pooling beneath him, red trickling into white snow from the gaping hole in his chest and the weapon lying just a few feet away. He remembers thinking he would die there. He doesn’t even blame Steve for that, but it’s hard to shake the image anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t trust him, and I can’t change your mind about that,” Natasha finally says, voice quiet. “But come to Switzerland with me anyway. If it doesn’t work out you can walk away. If it does, well, maybe we can all finally put the past behind us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When are we going?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I talked to Pepper and the others. We’re all set for Friday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony takes a shaky breath, and he nods slowly. “I’ll be there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The text from Natasha comes in the middle of the night. Steve is tossing and turning on a ratty motel mattress, the thin sheets scratching his skin, and he reaches for the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday. Bring Sam. Don’t be late.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I made a breakthrough at work today. It took me seventeen straight hours and I haven’t slept in almost three days for unrelated reasons, but I feel pretty good all things considered. I also forgot to respond for those three days. Sorry about that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other things that happened in those three days:</span>
</p><ol>
<li><span>I finally got that really shitty song out of my head</span></li>
<li><span>My ex went on a really bad date and we actually laughed about it together</span></li>
<li><span>I watched that Netflix show everyone was talking about - why was everyone talking about it?</span></li>
<li><span>I made my mother’s pasta recipe at two am and it wasn’t the same, but it was almost there</span></li>
<li><span>I rewatched that Netflix show to try to get why people liked it. I still don’t get it. </span></li>
<li><span>Life got really bad again. Thought about drinking. Then thought about you instead. </span></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Congratulations on your breakthrough. You should definitely get some sleep, though. Don’t make me have to worry about you, because I will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things were better for me in the last three days, though I will say I missed getting emails from you. I saw a couple of my friends, and they seem to be doing better, too. Things are starting to look up for all of us. Sometimes I think that I ruined their lives just by knowing them though. They wouldn’t need to be doing better if they had never known me in the first place, because they would have stayed fine the entire time. They know I feel that way, and they try to convince me it’s not true. It is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I went to another country today that I haven’t been to in years, and it was bittersweet. I met that friend from work I told you about in this country. I stood in the spot where we first met this afternoon, and I thought a lot about everything I wished had gone differently from that moment on. I don’t like how long the list is, and I like even less that there’s nothing I can do about any of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it, but I think I might actually do. I’ll be seeing him again soon, and I’m terrified. To make a long story short, I spent a long time keeping secrets from him that I shouldn’t have, and they came to light at the worst possible time. We were already arguing about something else, and everything combined was too much for us. I wrote him a letter at the end of it all, and I think I got it all wrong with that, too. I should have waited, I think. I should have waited until I understood how I felt about it myself before trying to explain it to him. I wonder sometimes if he ever even read it. I wouldn’t blame him for throwing it right out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can ignore all of this. I’m sorry for putting this all on you. I’m not expecting you to solve my problems. But I’ve been realizing that you’re the only person I can talk to about this who doesn’t know anything about it. Everyone else has already taken their sides, and I don’t need to be lied to by the ones who think I was right, and the ones who know I was wrong have already told me. The ones in between are good at saying everything will turn out alright, but I got a lot wrong, and I’m afraid of the things that can’t be fixed. The damage might always be there no matter what I do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could you tell me something else about you instead? Anything at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing is, Sal, that normally I’m all for avoidance. I’ve spent my life avoiding problems until they either disappear or they come back to blow up in my face. The disappearing happens a lot less than the blowing up thing. I know I said we should focus on the good all that time ago, but I don’t think that works for everyone and definitely not all the time. So I will still tell you about the pigeon that tried to sit on my shoulder this morning, but you don’t have to pretend that life isn’t shit when it is. That’s the point of this, right? We can say whatever we want to. Don’t apologize for that. Not to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without knowing more about the situation, you’re right that I can’t take any sides, and I can’t tell you that everything will be fine in the end. But you were the one who told me that all anyone can do is the best thing they can, and I think you should take your own advice. You might not be able to fix everything, but you can try your damnedest and hope that it’s enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know anything about this guy either or any of the things you did to him, but I’ve been on the receiving end of secret keeping and half-assed apology letters, and I think that I might be able to forgive the person that fucked me over (asshole one from before) if I actually thought he was sorry. If I truly believed that he regretted what he did, I might be willing to put it behind me. Maybe. Possibly. Don’t hold me to it. But I wouldn’t say it’s impossible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you could rewrite that letter, what would you say to him now, knowing everything that you do? Practice it on me before you see him again. Get it right this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wouldn’t know where to start. I guess I would start by telling him that I was selfish for keeping secrets. That I was selfish for turning my back on him in the end too. I was too focused on my own problems to realize that he was having problems of his own. He was always good at keeping people at a distance, but I should have tried harder to be there for him. I didn’t listen to him. I made assumptions. I decided that I was right and didn’t consider the alternative. Sometimes I forgot just how much he was dealing with because he made it look easy. I didn’t fully realize until he was gone just how much he was doing for all of us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know how to tell him all of this and have him actually believe that I mean it. We’ve never been very good at talking, but I don’t want to argue with him anymore. One of my friends once said that we couldn’t get along because we were oil and water, but that isn’t true. I’m starting to realize that all of those traits that I didn’t like about him in the beginning are the same ones that I like the least about me right now. I’m stubborn. I don’t like to be wrong. I don’t know how to give up control. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t perfect. He has flaws and he made mistakes too. But I forgave everyone else for theirs and punished him for his. It wasn’t intentional, but it happened. I don’t know if I deserve his forgiveness when I never gave him my own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you, Thomas, for listening to this. I needed to get it off my chest, even if he might not listen to me long enough to hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tony taps his fingers rapidly against his leg. The closer he gets to Switzerland, the more his anxiety builds. Rhodey keeps sending worried looks his way, but Tony shakes his head so they don’t talk about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends some time working on designs for new equipment, because some part of his mind is holding out hope that this will actually work and the team will need it again. There were about a dozen projects that he was in the middle of before everything happened, and he put a pin in them when he got back from Siberia. The vindictive side of him wanted to throw them all out, delete the digital and hard copies of anything he ever gave them, but he couldn’t. Natasha moves to sit next to him at one point, and she catches a glimpse of the upgrades to Sam’s wings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what I think it is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shrugs, zooming in on the specs to double check them. “I can only assume he already broke his.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damaged, but not quite broken. I don’t think he’s actually seen enough fights to break them yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony bites the inside of his cheek, torn between wanting to know and wanting to stay blissfully ignorant. Curiosity gets the better of him as always. “Just how many fights have they seen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must catch the way she pluralizes it, knowing it really isn’t Sam he’s asking about, but other than the slight twitch of her lip she doesn’t comment on it. “Not very many. Most of the leads were dead by the time we got them. Turns out accurate intel isn’t very easy to get on the run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can say it,” Tony grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha smiles, “Maybe I can, but I won’t. Just take the win you already know you have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony hums, and he opens up another design that he’s holding onto for quite a while. He hands the tablet over to her. “What do you think about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this…” she trails off, rotating the design with her fingertips. “When did you make this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few days after Siberia,” he replies, but the way she’s looking at him is a little too much, so he does what he does best. He deflects. “Not really for him as much as it was for me. I mean, it was a technological challenge I just couldn’t resist. If Hydra can make a fully functioning bionic arm, I should’ve been able to do it in my sleep. I figure, though, if it’s already made he might as well have it when he’s done with his time in the freezer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha blows up the design a little more, turning it into a hologram that hovers between them. “You know, no one ever did ever tell me everything that happened in that bunker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rogers wasn’t eager to brag about it? Didn’t go around cursing my good name and tarnishing my reputation in the name of all that’s righteous?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you have a good name to curse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony laughs, “Maybe once upon a time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha passes him back the tablet, and he closes out the design of the arm that was ready months ago. “He cursed himself a lot more than he cursed you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he did curse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs with one shoulder, “I wouldn’t really know. He doesn’t talk about it. Not to me, anyway, but maybe to Sam sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony taps his stylus against the edge of the tablet absentmindedly. “What did he tell you about what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That it was all a trap, and there never was a real threat. I know there was a video and then there was a fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all there is to know,” Tony says, flashes in his mind again. Armor caving into his chest. Cold seeping into his bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should’ve won,” she says simply, like they’re talking about the weather instead of the worst moment of Tony’s life. “If you wanted to win, you would have won.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Implying I lost on purpose, Romanov?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony smiles, a little tight and sharp, “Then you don’t know me very well at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t let it drop like he expects. “You aimed for his arm. From what I’ve heard that was the first shot. You had nothing blocking you. No one was expecting you to take it. And then you let them both walk away in the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suit was damaged. Couldn’t take another shot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not a good liar, Stark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s smile softens a touch, but he doesn’t need to confirm a thing. She knows the truth as well as he does. Instead, he pulls up another design that he started on last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought the Compound could use some updates, too. Look it over with me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony’s place in Switzerland is surprisingly modest, all things considered. The city is small to begin with, and the property sits far off the beaten path for added privacy. It’s as good a place as any for what they’re about to do. Steve and Sam are the last ones to arrive by plan, and it’s almost dark by the time the gates open to let them in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meetings for Accords revisions won’t start until tomorrow, but Steve is even more nervous for tonight. He doesn’t know what kind of welcome to expect. Natasha didn’t give much of an indication of how Tony feels about him, other than the obvious resentment and residual anger that Steve knows he deserves. He wants the chance to talk to him first, before they get started on the rest of the work, but he doesn’t know if he’ll get it. Patience has never been his friend, but it might need to be on this. He doesn’t have the moral high ground to stand on here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha is the one to greet them when they walk in. She looks more at ease than he’s seen her in a while already, and Steve chooses to take that as a good sign. None of them relax very easily anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to Switzerland, boys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at her, the most he can manage with the pit in his stomach. Bravery is supposed to be his thing, but he isn’t quite managing it here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The three of us are on the east side of the house,” she says, and she tilts her head that way before she turns down the hallway. Steve and Sam follow without being told, shouldering their one lone duffle bag a piece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha points out her own room, then Sam’s next to hers, and Steve’s across from them. Sam quickly disappears into his room, talking about a hot shower and a decent mattress, while Steve hovers in front of the door of his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to ask, or are we just going to stand here?” Natasha says, a slight smirk on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looks down at his feet, shifting around the bag on his shoulder. “How is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s here willingly, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, though he knows it doesn’t mean all that much. Tony would have showed up whether he was still angry or not because of the type of person he is. He would have swallowed his pride like Steve should have long ago and shown up for the benefit of everyone else, even for people he hates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We worked on Compound redesigns on the plane,” Natasha offers, and that says much more. “Bucky’s room is across from yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s eyes snap up to meet hers, searching for the lie. But she wouldn’t do that, and he knows it. He makes a wounded kind of sound, and she continues, “When he’s ready for it, there’s a new arm already made, and Sam’s new wings might be done some time next week. I think there might be some stuff for Wanda if she ever decides that she wants it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He - how did he - why -” Steve stumbles over the words, and Natasha gives him a small smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He hasn’t fully forgiven you. Not yet, anyway. But I think he could, and I think he might listen if you had something to say. Maybe not tonight or even tomorrow, but eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods again, and Natasha squeezes his shoulder before ducking back into her own room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents lately. They died a long time and I never fully got over it. The thing is my father never cared much for me - at least not in a way that ever showed. I spent a lot of time trying to get his approval, and when I realized I wasn’t ever going to get it, I spent even more time trying to piss him off instead. My mom hated it when I did that. But I always thought there was time to fix things, and then there wasn’t. I always thought that one day I’d finally do enough to prove myself and he’d eventually have to acknowledge it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, I’ve been thinking about what they would think of me now. It isn’t a stretch to say that if anything I proved my father right about me. I’ve fucked a lot of things up and my best is almost never good enough. If he were here he’d be disappointed but not surprised, I think. And if my mom were here… I don’t even want to know what she would have to say. I think she would be sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m going through an awful lot of self-doubt if you can’t tell. Apparently asshole one really does think he was an asshole, but it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would to hear it. Hearing that he feels guilty didn’t make me feel any better. It might even make me feel worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t decide at first if I even believed it, but I’m leaning towards yes. I’m still waiting for him to say it to me himself, to make sure there’s nothing else behind it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We haven’t spoken to each other yet and I’m wondering who’s supposed to make the first move. I could control it more if it was me. If I went to him I could leave when it became too much. But maybe that shows that I still care a lot. Or I guess it could show that I don’t care, if I really think about it. If I was still hurt I’d avoid him, right? In theory or whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know. You’ve been an asshole before - who should go first?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p>
  <span>p.s. Please don’t take offense to the asshole remark. I mean it in the nicest way possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know it might not mean much coming from a stranger turned friend who hasn’t actually met you or your parents, but I think you might be being too hard on yourself. This is coming from someone who has thought an awful lot about what my mom would be thinking about me now. Sometimes I think that she might be disappointed in me, but then I realize that she would be amazed that I made it this far at all. She never could have expected the things I’ve done, and I think she’d be understanding of the mistakes I’ve made. Mothers always are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the resident asshole (not offended, by the way), I’m not sure I know who should go first. I’m wondering it myself in my situation, because I don’t want to force my presence on him when he doesn’t want it, but I don’t want him to think that I don’t care. Maybe go to him if you can, because he might think you hate him too much to make the first move himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tony stands outside of the bedroom he assigned to Steve about ten minutes after receiving Sal’s last email. He raises his fist to knock on the door, then drops it again to pace down the hall. It’s pathetic, he knows. He’s faced worse than the guy he sort of still loves that’s become his sometimes enemy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, he never does knock. The door swings open while his back is facing it, and he whips around to find Steve standing there. He looks different than the last time they saw each other. Longer, darker hair, and a semi-well groomed beard covering his jawline make him look older, closer to the age he really is. He looks fresh from the shower, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and clearly not expecting for Tony to show up outside of his door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I did wonder sometimes how no one ever managed to spot you on the run,” Tony says. “I mean, pretty famous figure for no one to report seeing you. But I guess the beard really answers that question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stares at him, lips parted and eyes unblinking, like he thinks Tony might disappear if he looks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you forget your manners in the last nine months? Most people would have invited me in by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes a quiet, startled noise, then steps aside for Tony to walk into the bedroom. Tony takes a second to look around the room, though he knows there wasn’t enough time for anything to really change. A battered duffle bag has taken up residence in the chair in the corner, but everything else looks completely untouched so far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning back around, Tony puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks and says, “Natasha claims that you said you were wrong. I told her I’d believe it when I heard it for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s said more casually than he feels, but he doesn’t know how else to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wrong,” Steve says, and Tony can see his throat bob when he swallows. “About some things. Most of the things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony hums, “That’s something I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and that’s more than something. “For keeping secrets from you and for not trusting you. I should’ve realized that if I had told you the truth from the start you would’ve helped. I told myself I was protecting you when really I was protecting myself. It wasn’t fair to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony asks the question that’s been burning on his mind for a long time, “Was it me? Did I give you a reason not to trust me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve hesitates before shaking his head. “No, not really. But it was never that simple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Tony asks, but quickly says, “Actually, no. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. All I actually want to know is why you’re really here. You regret lying to me, fine. I already knew that. But last I heard you didn’t agree with the Accords. I think the exact words were ‘I wish we agreed,’ so you might have to forgive me for not actually believing that you had a change of heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bites his lip, sitting down on the edge of the bed with his hands in his lap. “I still don’t agree with them. I still think the best hands are our own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony sighs, “Then why the hell are you here? We’re not dissolving them, Steve. I can’t let that happen, and I don’t think I can survive another fight over it, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because we’ve been on the run for nine months and we’re not helping anyone,” Steve says, frustrated. “Our gear is all breaking, our leads are shit, and it’s not changing anytime soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re coming back because you need something from me,” Tony says flatly. “At least that’s familiar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what it is. There’s no other choice anymore. We left so we could continue to help people without the restraints, but we’re more restrained now than we would have been if we’d just signed them in the first place. I still don’t think we need them. I still think that one day there’s going to be a crisis and our hands are going to be tied so we can’t do a damn thing, but we’re not going to be doing a damn thing now anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony grinds his teeth together, and he knows it’s his own fault for expecting too much. He knew he wouldn’t have had a full change of heart. But there was a part of him that had hoped it really could be that simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many innocent people have to die before you realize that what we were doing wasn’t right? How many have to lose their homes because we destroyed an entire street? How much public outcry does there need to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how many people did we save with what we did?” Steve counters. “You’re the one that put that nuke in the portal. Do you really think the government that decided to bomb the city in the first place would have agreed with letting you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sure it was about even with how many died in Sokovia. Or in Johannesburg or Lagos. And those were just the big ones,” Tony argues, and he didn’t want this tonight at all, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t ready for it. “Do you honestly think we should just be allowed to walk away from all of that scot-free?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you honestly think this was the best solution?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe not,” Tony confesses. “But do you have a better one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands. The tension is thick in the room, but the anger has settled into resignment. “No, I can’t say that I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony moves across the room, leaving about a foot of space between them when he sits down next to Steve. “If anyone had bothered actually listening to me before, you would have heard me say that I knew that the Accords were messy. They weren’t necessarily practical, but they were inevitable. You’re right that our hands could get tied, but it was always better than fighting a losing battle against them and losing all control completely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve breathes out, and it’s shaky. “I thought we could change their minds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony almost laughs. “I know you come from a time when the good guy wins because they’re good, but things don’t really work out like that anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently not.” Steve lifts his head, meeting Tony’s eyes, and he looks so tired. “Would you have fought them if you thought we could win?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not like you did,” Tony says. “If I thought we had the time, maybe I would’ve looked for another solution. Some other way to be accountable. But there always should have been something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t necessarily disagree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony cracks a wry smile. “Almost as good as actually agreeing, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t agree completely or it might throw the world off balance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a joke? Are we joking now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughs, “It’s better than arguing, isn’t it? And it sounds to me like we’re on the same side now, anyway. We got there in different ways, but we want the same thing now, don’t we? To change the Accords so they work for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know we’re going to argue again tomorrow, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the next day, too,” Steve nods. “Every day until it’s done, I’d imagine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you think we’ll stop just because we’re done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiles, and Tony remembers exactly why he fell in the first place. “Knowing us? Probably not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony gets up to head for the door, and Steve stands to follow him there. In the doorway, he holds out his hand. “Truce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s handshake is firm. “Truce.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the morning, Steve walks out of the bedroom to find the kitchen and a black case falls from where it rested against his door. He takes it back inside to open it, but the familiar weight tells him what it is before he can unzip it. The vibranium is cool beneath his fingertips when he runs them over the white star in the center, then down through the blue and red. He smiles softly, and for the first time in almost a year, he can hope again. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I took your advice and went first. It didn’t go as badly as I thought it would. There was arguing, sure, but I kind of figured there might be. I probably should have apologized to him too if I’m being honest. Maybe later. I’m sure it’ll come up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m sorry to say that there might not be hope for you and me afterall, Sal. Your love for me (and if you’re not at least a little in love with me by now you’re lying) will forever be unrequited, because I think I still love that bastard. Also, maybe he’s not so much of a bastard. Just a bit of one, but so am I. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m truly heartbroken. Crushed, even. How will I ever recover?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I typed that and realized I sounded like you. You’ve rubbed off on me, but I don’t think I mind much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m happy for you, and I hope you’ll be happy to know my situation seems to be looking up as well. It wasn’t perfect, either, but it was better than I thought. He didn’t storm out at any point and neither did I. It’s a low standard, I know. I don’t think either of us said everything that needed to be said, but it was a start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The revisions are slow work at first. Steve does his best to bite his tongue where he can, holding back the snide remarks that would be so easy to say when things get a little intense. He can see Tony struggling to do the same, and it makes it easier to hold his own back somehow. But there’s still five of them in one small room for most of the day, and they all have strong personalities that don’t want to back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After, though, when they put down the documents for the day, it almost feels normal. It feels like what it could have been if they had done things right in the beginning. They watch movies together and take turns making dinner while Tony and Natasha bicker over trivial things. Steve gets along better with Rhodes than he would have thought, once the air has been cleared between them. None of it is perfect, and he doesn’t know what will happen once they leave this place, but for now it’s almost like being home again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I have something to show you,” Tony says after the fifth night of revisions. It was a harder day than the first four, going backwards more than forward it felt, and it feels like a small miracle that Tony even wants to talk to him at all. But he sits down next to Steve on the back deck, just a few inches between them on the swing, and doesn’t make a mention of the fact that they were taking sides around a conference room table just an hour ago. He taps on the screen of a tablet and says, “I know Nat already mentioned it to you, but I thought you might want to see it for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve watches the hologram take form, blue light illuminating Tony’s face through a 3D rendering of a bionic arm. “It looks similar,” he remarks, poking at the hologram hesitantly to turn it. It might as well be the same, minus the red star. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The plating is a little smoother than the other one was, but it’s almost the same on the outside. But the inside,” Tony says, doing something with his hand that splits the arm in half. “That’s completely new. All my own design. Obviously I don’t have anyone to test it on, but it’s the same basic tech that I used for Rhodey’s braces. Just a little more intricate, seeing as it’s replacing a limb rather than assisting existing ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mention of Rhodes’s braces makes him tense a little. They’re tangible reminders of his worst mistakes, like the scars on Sam’s bicep and the ankle monitor slightly visible in the pictures Clint sends to Natasha. Steve looks at the arm again and sees another one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows down the guilt and asks, “Why did you make this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you break it, you buy it,” Tony jokes, but it falls a little flat. He must sense it, too, because he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, Steve, I shouldn’t have done what I did in Siberia. None of us should have. I reacted out of pain, you reacted to protect him. I don’t blame you for that, and I hope you don’t blame me too much for my side of it, either. But the one person who never had any fault was Barnes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony pauses, then continues a little quieter, “He was a victim just as much as my parents were that night. I couldn’t see it then, but I see it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should’ve told you sooner,” Steve whispers, because even though he already knew that, it really sinks in now. “I should’ve known you would have helped him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shrugs, “To be fair, you probably couldn’t have known.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve always been a better person than I ever gave you credit for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s eyes widen a little at that, and Steve can hear the way his heartbeat picks up for a few seconds. Turning his head towards the mountains in the distance, Tony says, “Well, to be fair again, I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to know me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiles, “No, you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of it should feel like relief, and it does to a degree, but there’s something else he still needs to say. “I put a shield in your chest, and you gave it back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did, and I did, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shakes his head, and a slight smile twisting the corner of his mouth that Steve can see. “I chose to forgive you. I chose to acknowledge that you are not as infallible as everyone wants to believe, even yourself. You lied to me, and you hurt me, but you already know that and you already apologized. I don’t know who it’s helping to dwell on it anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony leans back, relaxing enough that his legs spread out to touch their knees together. He props his head up on one arm and looks up at the expanse of stars above them. Steve almost can’t breathe for a moment, heart clenching in his chest. He remembers writing at the beginning that he couldn’t tell love from infatuation where Tony was concerned, but he thinks he has the answer now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, we could just call it even if you wanted,” Tony offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tony says, and he looks at Steve with a soft smile. “I don’t want to pretend to hate you anymore. It’s pretty exhausting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughs, “Pretend, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony hums, gazing back up at the stars, “It’s not exactly easy to hate you for real. We wouldn’t be here if it was.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>By the second week it feels like they’ve hardly made a dent in the revisions at all, and everyone is slowly growing restless. The bickering comes in waves, varied both in who starts it and who puts it to an end, but at least there’s none of the dramatics of before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Day nine has Tony’s eyes glazing over while he tries to read page one hundred and three for what might be the hundred and third time. He keeps losing it after sentence four and has to start over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Steve whispers, leaning over a little in his seat. Tony glances up and blinks away the haze to see Steve’s small, amused smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are the words on this page in English?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s laugh is quiet enough that no one catches it but Tony, and when he turns back to the rest of them, he says, “Maybe we should move ahead to another section for now. I don’t think we’re making any more progress on this one today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a testament to how true that statement is when no one argues, and everyone agrees quickly when Sam suggests, “What about section 11-A? The one for team structure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The section is vague and seemingly half-written in places, impractical at best and impossible to implement at worst. Tony can understand why this section would drive Steve away and make him reject the whole notion from the start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I vote we scratch it completely and rewrite it ourselves,” Tony says, and he doesn’t miss the surprise from everyone but Natasha. “They wrote it from an outside perspective, and it shows. Nothing in here is practical, but we can fix that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods slowly, “So let’s get to work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony draws two columns on the whiteboard, labeling one “Active” and the other “On Call,” underneath the “Avengers Rosters” header, then turns back to the group.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, those living at the Compound will be considered active, and anyone else who signs without moving in will be considered on call. Is it safe to assume that everyone here will be active?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They exchange glances, and Steve speaks for them all to say, “We’ll all be active. Does that include you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shrugs, turning back to the board to add their names to the left side. “I don’t see why not. There isn’t much I can’t do for SI from the Compound, and the suit can get me back to the city in under thirty if needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Pepper?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony frowns, “What about her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought…” Steve trails off, gesturing vaguely through the air. When no one else fills in the rest for him, he continues with slightly reddened cheeks, “Thought you would have gotten back together by now, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” Tony laughs. “Never again on that one. Turns out there is a limit on how many times you can break up and get back together, and it is six.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, and Tony can’t read the expression on his face, but he doesn’t want pity, so he pivots the conversation back around quickly. “Alright, Nat, what’s the status on Clint?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanda?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Active.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vision?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Active.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T’Challa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barnes?” Tony asks, and it’s followed by a silence behind him that makes him turn around. “Anyone asked Barnes yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More of a complicated yes and no situation,” Nat replies, and Steve supplies the rest, “Yes to moving in, but probably no to the active roster for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony looks back at the board and adds a smaller column to the side. “Alright, there will be a third section for reformed assassins who will live with us but don’t participate directly in any superhero activities. I do think that technically requires a signature. Now what about Scott?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha and Sam exchange a look. “Apparently not yet asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, he can get his own column titled ‘Nat and Sam dropped the ball so maybe.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Spiderman? Have you asked him?” Steve asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll sign, but he won’t technically be on call. We’ll reevaluate in a couple of years on that one, which, between him and Barnes, does bring up the fact that we need a process for confirming adding new Avengers to the roster. We shouldn’t assume we’ll be the only ones qualified forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Voting system?” Sam suggests. “Majority vote from current members?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if there’s a tie?” Tony asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leader makes the final call?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s the leader?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam frowns, “Isn’t it Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s quite an assumption,” Rhodey says. “No offense, Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head. “None taken. I’m not so sure I should be leading, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one seems to quite know what to say to that, since no one saw it coming. Tony clears his throat after a few too many silent seconds, “We can come back to that later. We should really be wrapping up for the day, anyway, and this is as good a place to put a pin in things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets the others leave the room first, staying behind and hoping Steve will take the hint to do the same. Natasha lingers just a bit to cast a meaningful look Tony’s way, but he doesn’t quite need it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not so sure you should be leading?” Tony asks, returning to his seat next to Steve and turning the chair to face him. “When did you decide that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looks down at the table. “Right around the time that I lead half our team into being stripped of their ability to legally enter the majority of countries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s shit reasoning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve huffs a surprised laugh, though there’s little humor in it. “Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is, and I think you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The team doesn’t trust me, and I don’t trust me, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you forgotten that most of this team trusts you so much that they literally went to war with you?” Tony questions. He points to the whiteboard with the pen in his hand. “And last I checked not a single one of them left the team for good at the end of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stays quiet, so Tony continues, “One fuck up doesn’t mean you aren’t fit to lead anymore. It means you promise to make better decisions the next time and actually follow through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Rhodes doesn't trust me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He will."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Vision -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't have an opinion either way," Tony interrupts. "Pretty sure he goes wherever Wanda goes these days, anyway. He trusts her, and she trusts you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve cracks a small smile at that. "It still shouldn't be just me. There should be some balance."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony considers it for a moment, then shrugs, "A co-leader wouldn't be a bad thought. Natasha would definitely be willing. She has the most experience."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not Nat," Steve says, and he looks up to meet Tony's eyes. "You."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "Me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're the balance."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony laughs, "Yeah, no. If you think the team doesn't trust you, then there's not a chance in hell that they trust me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They will," Steve says, and that classic conviction is back with strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you turning my words against me? Doesn't work very well. Rhodey will trust you fully when you prove yourself again, and until then he'll still follow every order. I'm hoping to avoid being shot the second I walk into rooms. You and Sam changed your minds, but no one else did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think that's true. They wouldn't come back if they didn't think it was right," Steve argues. "Even if it was just to have some freedoms again, they could have signed and chose to stay off the roster. They chose to be on the team with the full knowledge that you and everyone that fought with you would be there, too." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Everyone who fought with me is Rhodey and Vision," Tony points out. "And like I said, I never had Vision because of trust. My real team has only one other member." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sam trusts you. So does Nat, and so do I. The rest will come around if they want their place on this team."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony sighs, dropping back against his chair, "Who's to say you and I can even work together in the long run?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs, "All I know is that I've seen what happens when we don't even try, and I'm not willing to see it happen again. We're a lot stronger together than we are apart."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's run out of counterarguments, and Steve must see it on his face. There's a smile slowly forming on his face, just waiting for Tony to agree for it to fully bloom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I suppose it can't go worse than last time," Tony concedes, and the smile grows a bit more. "There is a slight chance it could even work well."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just say yes, Tony."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, fine, we're co-leaders of the world's most dysfunctional group of people. Are you happy now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grins, "Yeah, I am."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In retrospect, Tony can admit the pieces were all there. He should have been able to put it together sooner. He is a genius, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s easy to miss the signs you didn’t think to look for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why is that your responses always come at the exact same time every day now? Do you have an alarm set for when you hit send? Are you in prison now and this is your computer time? It’s driving me just a little insane, and I need answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s exactly it. I’m in prison, and I spend my precious time writing to you. Send bail money if you can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’ve developed a real attitude. Also if you ever actually needed bail, I’m definitely the guy for that. Let me know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Seriously, no questions asked.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(We’ve all been there.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To satisfy your curiosity, I’ve gotten back into a routine. I lost it for a while for… reasons. I respond when I get back from a morning run, between showering and eating breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, we definitely haven’t all been there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Are you honestly telling me you’ve never ended up in jail for at least a night? Not even one? Did you not have any fun at all when you were younger?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reasons I’ve been arrested, in chronological order: breaking and entering, car theft (it was a misunderstanding), breaking and entering again, vandalism, car theft (not a misunderstanding, but it is a long story), drug possession (it was weed in the 80s), and the list is a lot longer than I thought so I’m cutting it off there, but just know I can think of a few more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, between this and the daily runs, I think I’m questioning our friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You only get arrested if you get caught. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony is laughing at his phone screen when Steve comes into the kitchen for breakfast. It’s a day off for them, agreed upon yesterday when they were all struggling again to read any more legalese through blurry vision, and Steve is dressed casually in that same t-shirt and pair of sweatpants from the first night. His hair is damp, and he must have taken the time to clean up his beard a bit this morning. It’s trimmed close to his face, and it takes a lot of self-control for Tony to look away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you laughing at?” Steve asks as he pours himself a cup of coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing. Just a text.” Deflecting, Tony asks, “Sleep in this morning? I never beat you in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head, “Took a longer route for my run since I had the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only you would use a day off to run more.” Tony wrinkles his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughs, and Tony forgets about the email waiting for his response for a little while. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You know what? I’m not even going to ask, because that response was just too perfect for it. You win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unrelated fun fact: I got five uninterrupted hours of sleep last night. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but it doesn’t happen very often. Probably not since I was a kid. Do people normally wake up feeling refreshed? Is this a thing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s more than a little concerning, but yes, it is a thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve decided to try to learn how to cook. I didn’t grow up with very much, and cooking wasn’t exactly for enjoyment. Later it seemed like there were more important things. But I have the time now, and I’ve realized I need to be a person outside of work. I think it was part of the problem before, because I never knew how to separate the two. I’m learning how now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Tony asks, and Steve glances over his shoulder from his place at the kitchen counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cutting an onion.” Steve looks back down at the pile of misshapen, unevenly cut pieces of vegetables. “Well, trying to cut an onion, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony comes to stand next to him and grins, “You’re very bad at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve laughs, “Why do you sound happy that I’m bad at this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony doesn’t answer other than to flash another smile Steve’s way, and he takes the knife out of Steve’s loose grip. “Scoot over. I’m showing you how to do this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If you ever figure out how to separate yourself from your work, can you let me know how? I’ve heard it’s a problem that I have. From many, many people. I should probably work on that too, huh?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had some free time today in a country I don’t normally spend much time in. There’s a lake close to where I’m staying, and I’ve been sitting by it for a long time just to think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My life has turned around lately, and I wanted to thank you. You gave me something when it felt like I had nothing, and talking to you helped me realize a lot of things that I needed to. Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you exactly what those things are. I think I would like to really know you someday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your Friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sal</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long do you plan on sitting out here?” Tony asks, walking out onto the dock in the lake behind the house. “You missed dinner, and according to Nat you missed lunch, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve lifts his head, and his pencil stops moving on the page of what looks like a sketchbook. He points it to an empty plastic bag. “I brought a sandwich.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony toes off his shoes, then stuffs the socks inside of them before sitting down next to Steve. The water is cold when he dips his feet in, and he shivers involuntarily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you missed Sam’s stir fry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiles, “Sam’s stir fry is terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know, I was congratulating you on wise decision making.” Tony glances over at the sketchbook and asks, “When did you start that up again? Haven’t seen you draw in a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve flips the pages back to the front and shows Tony a picture of a different beach done in pencil. The sun is reflecting on the water, bouncing off the waves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Italy a few months ago. Around the same time I started to change my mind about everything. There was…” Steve trails off, then seems to find the words, “I was talking to someone that helped me see things differently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony reaches over to turn the page again, waiting a moment to see if Steve will stop him. When he doesn’t, Tony flips to the next sketch, then the one after that. He goes through cathedrals, mountains, strangers on sidewalks, fountains, and trees. Then he finds Sam lounging on a couch, Natasha braiding her newly returned red hair, Rhodey in the kitchen a few weeks ago. He pauses when he finds his own face, surrounded by stars in the dark sky and the trees around the deck. The drawing version of him looks peaceful, missing that heavy weight of all the guilt that usually clings to him. He realizes then that it’s been gone for some time now, and he isn’t even sure when it left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to tell me about your time on the run one day,” Tony says, taking his hand off the sketchbook. “Seems like it was good for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve gives him a soft, wistful smile. “It really was.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I think I would like to know you as well. What do you say we start with our names? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll wait for your response before telling you mine. You know, in case it’s a no. And it’s completely allowed to be, by the way. No pressure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dear Thomas,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can go first, I suppose. Whatever your reaction is, I hope you give me the chance to explain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully still your friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steven Grant Rogers</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony reads the last line of the email and sits down on the edge of his bed, mind racing. It makes no sense and complete sense at the same time. The travel to all those locations he never named, the sacrifice and loss he talked about, the shared loneliness and guilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit,” Tony mumbles, putting his head in his hands. He thinks about all the things he said about Steve, not knowing it was to Steve himself. Things he never would have admitted out loud. Love, for one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that thought, he contemplates never responding at all. Responding is to admit that he loves him, along with admitting to every other honest and open thought and feeling put into those emails. Steve would know almost everything about him, and it’s a terrifying notion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then he remembers Steve’s friend from work and an apology letter to him that got it all wrong. A friend that he was in love with once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never did say if it’s still true. It could have faded with time or spoiled with all the history between them. Tony wonders if never knowing at all is better than having the knowledge that it could have been something back then, but won’t ever be in the future if it’s gone now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would make him a hypocrite, he realizes, if he kept this secret from Steve because it would be easier for him. It would make him all of those things he called Steve and all of those things Steve called himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rewrites the email at least a dozen times, alternating between witty one-liners that don’t say enough and lengthy letters that say far too much. He puts his heart out there, then backspaces it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end he decides to keep it simple, then he puts the phone down to wait for Steve to show up at his door. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t even have to knock before Tony opens the door, looking nervous and hopeful and </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His hair is ruffled, like he spent the last three minutes between him sending the email and Steve showing up here running his hands through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them says a word at first. He wonders what there is to say, when so much has already been said. Steve stares, and Tony stares back, and both of them are breathing fast enough to betray their rapidly beating hearts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony breaks it first, with a surprisingly shy smile as he says, “You couldn’t think of a better name than Salvador Dali?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiles back, laughing softly, “I could say the same to you, Thomas Edison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So is it Natasha or Sam that I have to thank for leading you to that site?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Natasha,” Steve says, then asks tentatively, “Would you thank her? Are you alright with it being me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony doesn’t answer at first. He reaches for Steve’s hand and tugs gently to pull him into the room. His bedroom is unsurprisingly bigger than the others, with the bed against the back wall and a sitting area off to the side. There’s a bar cart next to the couch that Tony leads him to, but instead of the whiskey or scotch Steve is sure once sat on top, there’s only bottles of sparkling water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That depends on some things,” Tony says, and Steve feels his chest tighten. He keeps Steve’s hand in his when they sit down, their thighs touching on the plush couch, and that loosens the knot a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you did call me arrogant and brash and stubborn, and I think there might have been a few other adjectives in there,” Tony says dryly, but the look in his eyes is amusement more than anything, even as Steve’s cheeks pinken. “But unless one of us has a reading comprehension issue, I’m pretty sure you also said that you loved me at least at one point, and you should have realized by now that I’m currently in love with you and that I was before all of this, too. So I guess the only thing it depends on is how past tense your feelings are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looks down at their hands and the way Tony’s fits in his so perfectly. He used to think about it sometimes, amongst other dreams. He used to think about what it would be like to silence that sharp tongue with his own or to have all of that genius focus directed solely at him just once. There were so many walls between them back then that he dreamt of tearing down. But then they fell, and now his fantasies take the shape of Tony in the kitchen with him, wordlessly correcting the way he holds a knife, and Tony next to him on the couch when the long day of work is finally done. He sees that back porch swing and pulling him in closer, holding him while the sunset turns to twilight around them. The last few minutes added about a thousand more, when he realized that the person he can say anything to is the same person he always wished he knew how to talk to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never hated you, either,” Steve says, because he needs Tony to know that above all else. “You said you couldn’t hate me, but you should know that I couldn’t hate you. You should know that I’ve spent so much of the last few months wishing I could undo everything I did to you, because I didn’t think that I’d ever get a chance at having your forgiveness. I thought I lost my chance at ever getting to really know you, and I always wanted to know you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pauses, unsure of how to say how he feels, because he never was very good at this. If he was good with saying how he felt, they wouldn’t be here right now. When he falls silent, Tony says, “You know me now, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looks up, away from their hands and into the eyes that he still sees almost every night in his sleep, between nightmares of regrets and visions of what should have been. “I know you better now than I ever thought possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And did I scare you away?” Tony asks. “Is it too much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Steve breathes out, shaking his head. “You could never be too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s smile is a delicate thing. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to hear it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony laughs, but he nods, and Steve leans in a little closer. He lifts his other hand, needing more than anything to know what Tony’s cheek will feel like beneath his skin, and Tony lets him do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not too much for me,” Steve whispers. “But you know me now, too. More than anyone does. Am I too much for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Tony says, and he covers Steve’s hand on his cheek with his own. Turning his head, he places a kiss on Steve’s palm, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He must notice, because Tony smiles again. “It’s very strange to have you here. I fully planned on taking these feelings to the grave, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So did I,” Steve says. “I never would have told you any of the things that I did, but I like that you know them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do we go from here?” Tony asks. “How do we do this? You’re still you, and I’m still me. How do we make that work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t have an answer for that, but he does know that the idea that Tony wants to make it work at all floods him with a warmth that he’s never quite felt before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we still the same people?” Steve asks instead. “I don’t think I am, not after everything. I know that I don’t want to be the kind of person that could hurt you like that again. I don’t want to be the person that doesn’t know how to listen to other people or admit when they’re wrong. And I definitely don’t want to be the person that doesn’t learn from their mistake. Are you really the same that you were before? I don’t think you are. Not from those emails.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony shakes his head. “No, I don’t think that I am, and I know that you aren’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a few seconds of silence, and Steve worries that it’s too soon to ask for that. He hasn’t given enough reasons to deserve Tony’s trust yet, hasn’t put in the work, and he’s about to take the question back when Tony says, “I read what you said when you thought I was a stranger. I watched you change, and then you showed up here. How could I not trust you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is the one who makes the first move, but Tony is the one that closes the final bit of distance between them. It’s a slow kind of kiss, gentle but not tentative. Tony lifts Steve’s hand to his chest, and Steve’s fingers spread out over where his shield collided those months ago. He can feel Tony’s heartbeat beneath his palm, and he knows that it’s his to protect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony smiles when he pulls back, and Steve ducks right back in for one more kiss. It thrills him that he gets to do that now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Tony asks, hands still tangled in Steve’s hair and limbs still wrapped with Steve’s own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t ever tell Rhodey he was right about the You’ve Got Mail situation thing,” Tony says, and Steve laughs. “I’m serious. I’ll never live it down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you tell me the rest of that story about the car theft you committed. Both of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony grins, “Fine, but you might be here a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if I was ever going anywhere else again.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you so much to everyone that has read/subscribed/bookmarked/commented/left a kudos! </p><p>as always, find me on tumblr <a href="https://ifmywishescametrue.tumblr.com">@ifmywishescametrue</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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